


Tell Me About Sophie, Anne.

by birdtalker_gaywalker



Category: Gentleman Jack (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Car Sex, Classic Ann(e)s, Dirty Talk, Domestic Ann(e)s, Don't say I didn't warn you, F/F, Lesbian Sex, Oral Sex, Sexy Times, Slow Burn, Smut, Strap-Ons, Tags Are Hard, You All Know What Comes Next, jk no burn, more to come - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:55:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26239705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdtalker_gaywalker/pseuds/birdtalker_gaywalker
Summary: Anne & Ann are happily married when an old friend re-enters their lives. Naturally curious person that she is, Ann wants to hear all of her wife’s stories. She just doesn’t expect it to ... affect her so much.
Relationships: Anne Lister (1791-1840)/Ann Walker (1803-1854), Sophie Ferrall/Anne Lister (1791-1840)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 89





	Tell Me About Sophie, Anne.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, speaking of old friends, I’m finally delivering on a promise I made to a special someone with a penchant for a *certain* type of fic. Sorry it took me so long to deliver.
> 
> This fits within the Black Ribbons & Pink Lace universe, if that so pleases you.

Anne Lister is in her study, lost in another world, another universe, so she doesn’t hear the back door open and close. She keeps writing, scrawling back and forth on the page in front of her like her hand can’t keep up with her brain. Ann knows not to disturb her like this so she just leans against the frame of the office door — Anne always leaves it ajar now for just this reason — and Ann watches her. Her low ponytail rests against the muscles of her back; her button down sleeves are rolled up past the elbow. She no doubt has ink on her fingers, maybe even on her face, but Ann can’t see it just yet. Then Anne lifts her head from the page.

“How long have you been standing there, love?”

“Just a minute or two,” Ann replies. She enters the room just as Anne spins around in her chair. And though this happens all the time, Anne’s breath still catches as the sight of her wife.

“You kill me in those things.” Anne says.

“In what things?”

“Your little outfit,” Anne answers. “The yoga getup. It’s all tight and spandexy.”

“This is what everyone wears,” Ann explains sheepishly.

“Maybe, but everyone surely doesn’t look like you.” Anne motions to Ann, still standing in the doorway, and Ann comes to lean against Anne’s seated figure. “With this ass . . .” Anne flirts, running her hands up Ann’s legs. “With this body. . . .” she presses her palms against the sides of Ann’s torso. “With these . . .” her hands sweep across Ann’s tits, covered only by a sports bra. “God, you’re sexy.”

“I’m all sweaty,” Ann responds, twisting her head away from Anne shyly.

“And I’d like to keep you that way.”

“Anne!” Ann giggles.

“Show me how flexible you are.”

“You’re incorrigible,” Ann counters.

“I am hungry, and you are a fucking snack.”

And all Ann can do is let out a gentle “mmmm” as Anne starts pressing kisses down her neck.

“Tell me about yoga,” Anne smirks.

* * *

It rains that night and it’s still raining the following afternoon so Ann asks Anne to drop her off at yoga class. When they’re inside and safe from the downpour, Anne tells her, “enjoy your class, babe” and runs her fingers down her wife’s back, stopping to pull at her hips. She kisses her quickly once, then again, and Ann sees that little sparkle in her wife’s eyes which she knows means Anne isn’t satisfied. The yoga studio receptionist is typing something into a computer but keeps flicking her eyes over to where Ann and Anne are pressed into each other’s bodies a few feet in front of her. Ann used to get embarrassed when Anne kissed her like this, in all these conspicuous places. But the years have gone by and now there’s something sexy about how much Anne still wants her, something thrilling about how Anne touches her with the same urgency, looks at her with the same hungry eyes. It makes Ann feel incredible that after all this time, Anne still can’t keep her hands off her. So Ann kisses her back, nipping at Anne’s lips and smiling at the feeling of their tongues connecting, tasting each other in the middle of the room.

Anne doesn’t close her eyes — the sexiest part for her has always been knowing that it’s Ann she’s kissing. Ann with the delicate features, the freckles on her nose and cheeks. So with open eyes Anne notices the door to the yoga studio swing open and watches as a woman in a floral-patterned tank top steps in. Ann is still kissing her when Anne sees the woman’s eyes meet her own, and then she sees a light blush washing over the chest of the brunette standing in the doorway.

“Annie?” She calls out. “Oh my god, Annie!! It is you!!”

Ann breaks apart from Anne and immediately recognizes the brunette upon seeing her.

“Good Lord!” She exclaims. “Sophie, it’s been ages!”

Ann rushes to her and envelops her in a hug. She grabs her hands but leans back to take in Sophie’s figure.

“You look beautiful, Soph, every bit the same,” Ann says. Sophie blushes, then looks to Anne with an inscrutable expression on her face.

“Oh,” Ann catches up. “This is my wife, Anne.” She laughs, never sure how people will react to both of them having the same name.

“Miss Lister!” Sophie says. “Looks like someone finally made an honest woman out of you.”

Anne smirks. “Hardly.”

“Hey!” Ann quips.

“Kidding, of course,” Anne says, her eyes still focused on Sophie.

Ann steps back towards her wife and says, “I didn’t realize you two knew each other.”

“Many lifetimes ago,” Anne explains. And Ann wonders if there’s a reason Anne is being so diplomatic, but she’s interrupted by a dinging noise coming from the intercom — the telltale sign that yoga class starts in two minutes.

“That’s me,” Sophie points out.

“And I’m down the hall,” Ann adds. “Soph, I want to hear everything about how you’ve been. Can we catch up after?” Sophie nods eagerly.

“It’s always a pleasure to see you, Miss Ferrall.” Anne says.

“A pleasure indeed,” Sophie counters.

Anne kisses her wife’s cheek as a goodbye, and the three women depart in separate directions.

____

Neither of them mention Sophie Ferrall when Anne returns to pick Ann up. Neither of them mention her until later that evening, when they’re sitting across from each other over a plate of pad Thai at their favorite restaurant.

“Anne?”

“Yes?”

“How do you know Sophie?”

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Anne asks, lifting a forkful of noodles to her mouth.

“Because she was looking at you like that.” Ann answers.

“Like what?”

“Like you fucked her,” Ann states plainly.

Anne swallows her bite too fast, then immediately starts coughing. She looks up at Ann with daring eyes.

“Oh my god, Anne, you totally did!”

“Ann, it was a long time ago, before you,” Anne starts to explain.

“Oh I’m not mad, I just thought I knew all the girls you’d been with.”

“You do,” Anne confirms.

“I didn’t know her.”

“Well I doubt you know them all by name.” Anne sets down her fork.

“Well which one was she?”

“It doesn’t matter, babe.”

“If it doesn’t matter then you’ll have no problem telling me.”

Anne looks at her wife, tries to challenge her with her eyes. But they’ve been together too long for Ann to give up so easily. So she stops trying to give Ann the runaround. “Go on then,” Anne says.

“Well she’s obviously not your first because I know what Eliza looks like. And I think you’ve showed me the rest of the ones from high school.” Ann takes her napkin out of her lap and sets it on the table next to her plate. She takes a sip of her water to center herself.

For her part, Anne leans back in her chair.

“And I’ve met all the ones from around here over the years.”

“Yes, that’s true.”

“So out of the ones that I don’t know what they look like, umm, well . . . .” Ann rests her thumb on her bottom lip and starts gently gnawing at it. “I don’t think Sophie ever worked at a coffee shop, at least she hadn’t when I interned with her in university, and you said she was long before me, right?”

“That’s right.” Anne agrees.

“And she would have needed to be much older than us to have been your Russian tutor, I imagine.” Ann looks to Anne for confirmation, and Anne nods. “So I suppose she could be that crazy one who always took pictures of you sleeping, but she doesn’t strike me as that unbalanced, and she could be the disgustingly wealthy one but I don’t recall her family being that loaded.” She seems sure until Ann looks across the table to Anne playfully tapping on her wine glass with her middle finger. “Right?” Ann asks, wanting to double check.

“Mmm-hmm.” Anne confirms.

“That leaves the one who worked at the bakery-”

“Mmm, fantastic muffins, that one,” Anne remembers.

“-the one who crafted all the saddles for your horses-” Ann continues.

“Honestly she preferred bareback herself,” Anne interjects.

“And the minister- or was she a rabbi?” Ann wonders. Before Anne can add a cheeky response, Ann adds, “Ooh! And the stripper!”

Anne takes a sip of her wine.

“But Soph would never.”

Anne sets her glass down and flicks at its sides with her middle finger.

“Right, Anne?” Ann questions.

In response, Anne just raises her eyebrows and continues fingering the glass.

“Anne?” Ann asks it louder and more emphatically.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t be so quick to judge people.”

“I’m not judging. I’m … surprised!” Ann answers. “You’re telling me Sophie Ferrall was once a stripper?” It’s starting to sink in. “Like a real stripper? On a pole?” She’s nearly in disbelief.

“She was putting herself through school, Ann.” Anne explains plainly. “And I think they call themselves dancers, babe. Either way I really don’t think we’re in a position to judge-”

“I’m not judging her. I’m just…” She sits back in her chair slowly. “...imagining.”

“Oh, really?” The edges of Anne’s lips turn up.

“Yeah, when I knew Soph in college she was flirty, of course, and we used to go out and dance sometimes— I mean she was always a phenomenal dancer — but thinking of her dancing like that, I —“ she cuts herself off.

“You what, Ann?” Anne challenges her.

“Oh, I— I don’t know.” Ann giggles awkwardly.

Anne adjusts in her chair when their water comes back to check on them, and she answers “excellent” when the young man asks how their food was. Ann stays lost in her own world for another second or two until the server asks if there’s anything else they’d like. Anne begins to respond, “just the check” but Ann interrupts, pointing to Anne’s wine glass and blurting out, “another of these.” As soon as she’s said it though, she realizes there’s still a few sips left in there. Ann grabs it and gulps down the remainder of wine in the glass. Neither of them speaks as the server clears their plates.

“Ann, are you alright?” Anne questions her when the server has left again.

“What was she like?” Ann asks.

“Sophie?” Anne inquires playfully, though she already knew the answer. Ann nods. “You want me to tell you about her? When we...” Anne allows her voice to trail off, and Ann, eyes widening, nods again.

“Well I got dragged into this bar with Booth you see, for his birthday,” Anne starts, twiddling her pointer finger around the rim of her now-empty glass. “I was single, not interested in anything. But Booth thought I looked dull sitting there alone while he and all the other guys got lap dances, so he bought me one. My first. It was rather enjoyable.”

Ann feels her face get warm and wonders whether it was the wine she just chugged. “Sophie gave you your first lap dance?” Ann asks.

“Mm-hmm. She had the same flirty grin, terrific rack.” Anne pauses; her finger stills momentarily as well. “You sure you want to hear this?”

Ann nods. The waiter returns with an uncorked bottle of red and pours the wine into Anne’s glass, twisting and lifting at the end to keep from spilling any drops. Anne casually slides it across the table until it’s situated just in front of Ann, in the empty space where her plate had been. When Anne starts talking again, Ann raises the glass to her lips and drinks and listens.

“So she danced for me, in this little silver, sequined dress. She put her ass in my lap, held her thighs right over mine, and I swear if I’d had anything there it would have been rock hard. God she was sexy. Her hair was long and wavy and it took everything in my power not to grip it and push her into my lap.”

Ann swallows loudly. “So what happened?” She asks, her mouth dry.

“She danced, and when she finished, she told me to come back some time. So I did. I came back a few weeks later, and as she was grinding on me she leaned into me and whispered in my ear, told me to touch her. So I carefully ran my fingertips along the side of her leg, ran them up as far as I could do without drawing attention to myself. And she seemed to like it because the next thing she whispered was that she wanted me to feel how wet she was.” Anne pauses to readjust the collar of her button-down shirt.

Ann licks her lips. “I wanted to feel her, obviously. Good Lord I did. I wanted to shimmy my hand into my lap and turn it palm up, so I could toy with her, run my fingers through her folds. But the angle would have been shit and before I could, the song ended and she had to go.”

Ann’s breathing is noticeably heavier than it had been a minute ago, she fears. But the intensity of her stare, the mischievous expression on her face must let Anne know that she likes this because before she can encourage Anne to keep talking, Anne says, “The next time I went, I decided I’d bring something special with me to see if she liked it.”

A tiny moan escapes from Ann’s pursed lips on accident and Ann prays Anne doesn't hear it.

“That night, well normally she’d lean into me you know— with her ass, like sitting on top of me. This night, some kind of magic it was, she put her leg over me and started her routine facing me, so when she dipped down to graze my pants, I got to see the look on her face when she felt the rubber of my shaft.”

“Aa— and?” Ann chokes out.

“I gathered by the look on her face it made us both wet. She grinded down on me, hard, started rubbing herself against me. Fuck— it was such a turn on. I thought she was going to orgasm right there on top of me, lap dancing on a patron in a skanky dance club.”

“She didn’t?” Ann asks.

Anne makes Ann wait for the answer; she knows this story is making her wife fall apart.

And Ann knows her heaving chest and blushed face are giving her away, not that her wife wouldn’t know regardless. “Anne, tell me please,” Ann finally begs.

“She licked the shell of my ear and told me to follow her to the back.”

Ann takes another sip of the red wine, then wipes her lip gently with her pointer finger.

“She took me to her dressing room. Pushed me down on her couch, then unzipped my pants. She pulled out my cock, started sucking me off and when I was almost there, right on the cusp, she commanded me to wait. She lifted up her little dresss, moved her panties over and sank onto me, rode me in the dark dressing room like a fucking rodeo cowboy. And then she came all over my cock while telling me I was trouble. I came so hard when she told me she’d wanted me to fuck her since that first night.”

 _Oh my god_. Ann doesn’t even know if she’s said it out loud until her wife asks her— in a much too casual voice, “Ann, my love, are you alright?”

The waiter returns and sets down the check before disappearing again. Anne fishes a credit card out of her wallet but Ann stops her from setting it down on the small black tray with the receipt on it.

“Do you have cash?”

“Of course. Why?”

“Use cash.” Ann says. “Please.” _Just once, don’t ask questions, Anne_ , Ann thinks to herself, and just this once, Anne doesn’t.

Anne counts some cash from a wad in her other pocket and sets it down, returns her plastic card to its place in her wallet, and stands up from the table. She moves to help her wife out of the chair across from her and before turning to follow her out, finishes the rest of their second glass of wine in one long sip. Ann walks as fast as she can to the car, so fast even that Anne— generally the fastest walker she’d ever met— stays three paces behind her the whole 50 yards there.

Upon finally catching up to her, Anne opens the passenger side door for her to get in, but Ann doesn’t move. She just keeps leaning against the back door. And when Anne moves in front of her, Ann reaches down and grips her belt buckle.

“Baby, tell me you’re packing,” Ann breathes.

“What?” Ann unclasps her belt, unbuttons her top button.

“Please babe, you’re packing right?”

It catches Anne off guard. “No — I mean, we were just going to dinner.”

“Always pack Anne.” Ann shakes her head. “Dammit. Pack always, okay?”

Anne looks confused at first, and then realizes as soon as she takes in the thirst in her wife’s eyes.

“Tell me more Anne. Tell me about Sophie.”

Anne plays along. She presses into her against the car, teases her fingers down the sides of Ann’s legs. She whispers in her ear, “What about Sophie, baby?”

“Tell me about how you made her come.”

“Get in the back seat.” Anne orders her. And Ann bites her lip as she opens the door, slides into the back seat and turns to watch Anne follow her in.

“The next time I went to the club, she kept looking at me while she’d run her hands over her body, and all I could think about was getting my hands on her tits,” Anne says. Sitting side by side in the back seat of the car, Anne starts slowly tracing her fingers up the side of her wife’s legs. “So she came over to me like she always did, curved and twisted her body around for me, danced for me. And I couldn’t put my hands on her because patrons aren’t allowed to on the floor. So I had to sit there, not touching her.” Anne grips one of Ann’s knees and pulls it toward her, spreading her wife’s legs apart.

Ann leans back against the seat.

“And it was torture.” Anne sighs. Her fingers start to trace up the insides of Ann’s thighs, dipping under the fabric of her dress. She slows her pace the farther up she goes, teasing and taunting Ann while still telling her the story. “Fortunately Miss Ferrall had saved me the spot in the back corner. Darkly lit. And she had this tight little dress on. So she managed to lean onto me, sit down almost all the way on my lap. She knew what she was doing, pressing her body into mine so that the base of the fake cock pushed into me. And she kept at it, pushing it just right for the whole song. One song — a long one, but just one.”

Anne’s fingers finally touch the edges of her thong, and Ann feels herself hold her breath. She exhales just as Anne glides across the fabric, back and forth, then dipping down to gently press against her entrance.

“I thought I’d explode into a million pieces.” Anne continues. “I couldn’t touch her, couldn’t grip her thighs as she gyrated on me, couldn’t do anything but sit and watch as she moved up and down over my lap, pushing the end of the cock down into me. And she kept fake dancing pretending she was giving a normal lap dance while in reality she was making me so fucking wet.”

Anne presses against Ann’s heat, still covered by her thong, and Ann’s positive that it’s soaked through but she’s too aroused to care. She tilts her head back and smiles, but then feels her wife’s fingers disappear. “When the song was over, she stood up and took the $100 bill I was holding out of my hands like nothing had happened at all.”

Ann tilts her head back down. “You gave her money?”

“I always gave her money so that it’d look like a real lap dance,” Anne says.

“So you paid her for sex?” Ann asks, now sitting back up.

“Never. We’d use it to go buy breakfast afterwards, mimosas with real Champagne.”

Ann exhales.

“But of course I did tip for the lapdances. She was putting herself through school, remember love?”

Ann looks at Anne through hooded eyes, still trying to process the story Anne’s recounting.

“Ann?” Anne says after a beat.

“Mmm-hmm?” Ann responds, licking her lips.

“You’re soaked, babe.” Anne grins.

“I . . . I— “ Ann can’t find the words. But she knows Anne already knows.

“You like hearing this, don’t you?”

“I—” Ann stammers.

“You like hearing how I fucked another girl? Your friend, Miss Ferrall?” Anne coos into her ear.

Ann throws her head back, grins.

“Did it make you wet, thinking about me with her?” Anne lifts her fingers to Ann’s collarbone, touches her soft skin along the grooves there.

“Mmm-hmmm,” Ann nods.

“You like thinking of me, pushing into your friend’s tight —”

_She can’t fucking take it anymore._

“Take me home, Anne,” Ann interrupts.

Anne looks to her wife’s face and smiles sweetly, if not pitifully. “Well, well, well,” she ponders aloud. And Anne gets back in the front seat to drive them home.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't worry baby. You'll get what you want.
> 
> As a side note, I just want to say that I’ve never actually had a lap dance and don’t know any dancers personally (but legitimately have the utmost respect for them) so if any of this is inaccurate or exploitative then I’m terribly sorry and that was not my intention.


End file.
